I really want him. The little clock says we have four minutes and change. I don’t want to get in the way. I keep watching. Miranda slides down to the floor, places her hands around his cock and licks the glass in broad strokes, her ass moving as if someone’s fucking her from behind. “Come on,” she says, and starts to slap the glass with her hands, as if to pound through it and get to him. Paul laughs, his cock moves up so it’s almost flat against the leather of his belt. He’s close, but he’s being watched, so it’s still going to take him a while. I really want him.
“Fuck her,” I say. My boyfriend stops, his penis still in the firm, familiar grip of his own hand, and turns toward me.
“What?” he asks. I’m interrupting, all right.
“Fuck her,” I say and in two steps I’m there, pressed against the glass, as fully clothed as him. I pull my skirt up roughly, just enough to get to my panties, pull them aside. No striptease, just clearing a path. I bring my leg up around him to rest solidly on his flat hip, feeling the leather of his belt against my calf. My leg starts to slide down and he catches it, stares at me for moment. His hand slides down to my ankle, deliberately, so I know as he grabs it too tight, as he pushes my leg back up around him, that he’s saying yes.
“God, this is pornography,” I say quietly. His cock is rubbing against me now as he fishes in his pocket for the condom that is usually in his wallet.
“Is that good?” he asks, finding it, getting it on.
“Oh, yeah.” Arrest me, I think. Better yet, re-zone me. Keep me at least 50 yards away from a school, church, or residential housing at all times.
“Fuck her,” I say, which is what I mean. He keeps his eyes on me for one more moment, smiling a little as he finds the edge of my panties and pulls them aside. He pushes in, he gets inside his girl and we both hold in our gasp. As he starts to rock me, all slammed up against the bulletproof glass, I take his face in my hands and push it back up to look at her.
Miranda has taken her cue well, taken it all. She has been behind me, straddling the stool, her face just behind mine but looking down at me. She let us have this together, a point of entry into her. Now, he’s all hers again. I turn half to the glass and watch out of the corner of my eye. Miranda scoots her feet up onto the stool’s edge and throws her hands up over her head as if welcoming the sun. She presses them against the glass. Her gestures are dramatic but I realize they also help her keep her balance. She’s scrunched up now, knees to chest, hands pressed high above us all while I’m spread out against her. She carefully pushes up until she’s standing, balanced on the stool. They’re both over me.
We’re all breathing hard in time with Paul’s thrusts, in time with our seconds slipping by. He slides his hand into the cup of my lower back and seals me against him, against his sweaty clothes and one hot bit of bare skin. Paul holds me tight and pushes into me, and into the girl behind me. She’s pressed her breasts against the glass and thrown her head back, she’s tickling her naked clit with her nails once again. He can pretend I’m her, a girl for pay, a sweet slut, a gorgeous, underpaid nymphomaniac. And maybe also he gets to do it and see it at the same time, as if it’s all the same thing.
We don’t have much time. I want to see but I want to make him come, so I pull him against me, one hand bracing his ass and the other snaking around the base of his cock, feeling my panties rumpled against my thumb. Paul’s mouth falls open and his inhales become shocked, boyish gasps. Miranda drops down so she’s squatting on the stool right behind me, as if I could lean back and be held in her slim arms. I barely see her glossy lips, her tongue running over them, then she and Paul move. She’s rocking her hips against the air and I know she’s telling him come inside me, yeah baby, fuck me, come, baby, deep inside, that’s it, I’m coming with you, yeah, yeah, and he says it out loud in my ear and moves my head so its hugged against the side of his neck and he presses his face hard against my shoulder, looking at her, and he comes and comes and comes.
I hold him there as he trembles and I try to suck air back into my lungs. There’s a dull thud. We both look up hazily to see the partition coming back down again. Miranda, sweaty and smiling, waves goodbye.
I can barely look at him but I have to ask.
“Good?”
He laughs and stuffs the condom back inside the foil packet, wads it into his wallet again. “Not what I usually get here.”
Paul zips back up and wipes his face with the sleeve of his sweater. I’m standing in the centre of the room, a little dazed. It occurs to me that the woman we were just with has a whole life I’ll never know anything about. Maybe she likes doing this, maybe it’s her ticket, maybe it’s hell.
When I look up, he’s looking down at the floor, nervous like I just was.
“Did you?” he asks.
“What, baby?”
“Did you?”
“Oh. It’s OK.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yeah, but, Paul, that was for you. It’s cool. Honest.”
Sometimes this is true and sometimes it’s not. Right now I’m all wound up and confused and we have no time. “Hold on one second.”
He opens the door and walks quickly into the hall. I’m scared at first, then I hear him say hello. A woman’s voice returns the greeting. It’s Miranda.
“I really can’t do that,” I hear her say.
“You can’t?” Paul asks. There is a silence and then more gentle words on both sides. I hear the soft click of high heels retreating, as he pulls the door open with an uneasy metal creak. He steps back in, shuts it behind him. Paul gets the footstool from the corner and smacks it down in front of me.
“We have six more minutes,” he says.
“How much did that cost you?” I ask.
“Shut up, baby,” he says and presses his whole body against me, from forehead to lips to cock to toes.
“I don’t have anything,” I say, meaning this is not what I thought would happen today. I thought we would buy key-chains and hats with famous logos and then break up. I have no protection on me or in me, and he was only carrying the one condom. Then I’m worried because I’ve never been able to come standing up, and I sure as hell don’t want to lie down on this floor.
“We don’t need anything,” he says and grabs my leg, lifts it up and slams my foot down on the footstool, spreading me open.
He crumples down in a smooth movement to crouch at my crotch, pulls my skirt up, pushes my panties aside again, and kisses me square on my pussy.
“Use me,” he says, and uses one fat hand to pull me against his mouth by my ass. “Make yourself come with my mouth.” I can’t come standing up. I think this for a minute, then replay the last few minutes in my head and start to move against him as he starts to kiss me there. Jesus, he does this well. He kisses my clit as if it’s every part of me, a sweet kiss like on my forehead, deep licks like it’s my mouth, then wet, sweet sucking as if on a nipple, as if he sucks my clit to stay alive. I start to moan in the quiet little room. I wonder if a woman has ever been in here before.
Paul pulls away for one evil moment and replaces his mouth with his fingers so he can get out a good line: “You think this is for me. Fuck that. Fuck me, Ann,” and with that he dives back into the underworld of my cunt. It works. He does me with his hand and mouth, his tongue lapping at my clit. I like it in here, all dark with the dim blue light, without the other side of the partition glaring through at us. I’m thinking about Miranda, on her knees, how good she was, pounding on the glass and getting to us without one single touch.